WWJD
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Sam and Dean encounter a nasty poltergeist and a friend from their pastall culminating into one long, bad day for Sammy, leaving him looking for guidance from above.


W.W.J.D.

By: Williamson Scott & Ridley James

Rating: T-just for some language.

A/N: Okay, this is a short little one shot, inspired by several things. First, a conversation that I, Ridley, had with Tidia. So, the title is credited to her and the premise behind it. I was meeting with Will today, honestly to have her Beta the next part of _The Line_ and a little angst-filled piece called _Great, Beautiful, Terrible Things. _But they are both so dark, and we were chatting about needing to lighten up, and bang- this little piece was born. I shared mine and Tidia's conversation with her, and we laughed so hard people were starting to stare, and decided it must be worked in somehow. We brainstormed and tied it together, and now offer it up to you all. It may make no sense at all, but it sure was a lot of fun and we hope it brings a smile. Also, we dedicate it to our friends Tidia, Mog, and Leslie & the rest of the Rowdies, because it seems that no matter how far apart you are, or how long in between visits, friends are always close at heart.

_**Without friends, the world is but a wilderness. -Francis Bacon **_

"I still think we should have researched this more."

"What's to research?" Dean killed the car and pulled the key from the ignition. "Sounds like a simple poltergeist. No sweat, Sammy."

"Do you remember the last poltergeist, Dean?"

The older Winchester rolled his eyes. "How can I forget, Asphyxiation Boy?" He grinned at his brother. "That's why we packed those little poltergeist potpourri bags of Missouri's."

"They're not potpourri, Dean." Sam smirked at his brother, slightly amused that the man even knew the word. "And _who _packed them?"

"You did, bitch." It was said with playful authority, and Dean added to the insult by making an invisible whipping slash in the air, complete with sound effects. "Just like I _told _you to."

"You are such an ass." Sam growled realizing he was completely wasting his breath. He opened the passenger door of the Impala and slipped out into the night.

Dean laughed and followed suit, going around to the trunk to grab the shotguns and rock salt-just in case. "And you're such a girl."

"Why? Because I prefer to do things the sensible way."

"Sensible? This is a ghost hunt, college boy, not a courtroom drama."

"Fine," Sam took the gun his brother offered him. "Let's do the _'fly by the seat of the pants'_ routine that has worked so well for us in the past."

"Hey, I never had a problem with it before you came back into the picture."

Sam grabbed a handful of ammunition, shoving it in his coat pockets, while glaring at the other man. "That's just because you were too lazy to do the freakin' research."

"I had better places to spend my spare time than in the library."

"Like in a bar?" Sam scoffed, stalking towards the two-story restored farm house in the distance.

"Among my other favorite haunts." Dean's lip curled up in a barely restrained grin at his own pun. It was obvious he was enjoying his favorite game of grating on Sammy's nerves, and not paying nearly enough attention to the possible life-threatening situation at hand.

Sam reached out and roughly grabbed his jacket, nearly causing him to stumble as he was jerked to a halt. "Dude, watch the leather."

"Someone's here."

"Are you using the force, Luke?"

"NO." Sam pointed a finger towards the darkened house where a small light danced across the windows. "Just my eyes. You might want to give it a try-instead of exhausting your mouth. Someone is using a flashlight. Last time I checked, poltergeists didn't have hands."

"Probably some damn amateurs again." Dean shrugged. "Maybe some locals trying to find some cheap thrills."

"Maybe," Sam rubbed at his head, not willing to tell his brother now that something _was _indeed setting off his 'spidey-sense', as Dean had tagged it.

"That's all I need," Dean groaned, theatrically. "Someone else's ass to cover."

"You think it could be Dad?" The younger hunter asked as they cautiously crept up to the front door.

"And why would Dad send us coordinates if he was going to do the job himself?"

Sam frowned. The sense he was picking up was familiar, but he wasn't sure how to explain it or even pin it down. "I don't think it's an amateur."

"Seriously, Sammy," Dean stopped, his hand hovering above the door handle, "If you're picking up something, tell me. You have to be more careful now."

The concerned tone aggravated Sam, even if the sincere worry he read in the green eyes was somewhat of a comfort. "I'm fine. I'm just guessing."

"Right," Dean shook his head at his brother's pig-headedness. "Just don't come crying to me if you get sucked into a static-filled T.V."

Sam rolled his eyes and made easy work of the lock, both boys slipping inside. Once in, they were without the option of using their own flashlight, lest making themselves known to the other intruder. Dean's eyes had adjusted to the darkness on the walk from the car, but without the moonlight, the pitch black was impenetrable.

He had only made it a few steps when his shin collided with something hard and unforgiving, a pained yelp escaping him before he could stop it. "Damn it," He cursed, under his breath.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, colliding with his brother in his urgency to help the other man.

"Ow!" Dean's voice was louder now, as Sam's elbow clipped the side of his head where he was bent over rubbing his hurt leg. "Get off."

Sam backed up, and into a table which scooted loudly over the rough wood floors. "Be quiet!" Dean hissed.

"You be quiet!" Sam countered, hating not being able to see enough to shoot a glare in Dean's direction.

An ominous, familiar click filled the sudden silence between the brothers, and Dean couldn't believe someone had gotten the drop on them. "Why don't both of you shut the hell up."

Not just someone… "Fuckin' Reaves!" Dean snapped, turning his flashlight on and whirling to shine it in the face of the man standing behind them.

Caleb laughed. "Good to see you too, Deuce." He blinked. "Now get that fucking light out of my eyes."

Soon the whole room was illuminated as Sam hit the switch by the door. Both of the other hunters turned on him. "Now the entire neighborhood knows we're here." Caleb sighed, lowering his shotgun to his side. He turned to Dean. "Did he lose all his hunting sense in college?"

"The closest house is down the street and around the corner," Sam pointed out, his gaze holding Caleb's amused eyes. "I don't know why you were stumbling around in the dark in the first place."

As the youngest Winchester made his way back to his brother's side, he eyed the other hunter. Caleb hadn't changed much in the three years since Sam had seen him at Stanford. His dark hair was shorter, barely grazing the collar of his leather jacket now. Although, his typical clean-shaven face was covered by a shadow of a beard, making him look more dangerous than usual, but the cocky, half-assed grin was as familiar as ever. "Bad habit."

"What the hell are you doing here, anyway?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at their old friend.

"Working."

"This is _our_ gig, Lucifer."

Caleb snorted. "Who the hell says?"

"Dad says." Dean challenged, and Sam couldn't help but to notice the subtle change in his brother's demeanor. It was always funny to Sam that Caleb's presence could lower Dean's chronological age by about ten years.

"Since when do I give a shit what _Daddy_ says?" Dean seemed to have the same effect on the other man.

Dean suddenly nodded over Reaves's shoulder. "Did you hear that, Dad? Caleb doesn't give a…"

Dean didn't even finish the sentence before Caleb was whirling around, eyes going to the door now at his back.

Sam held his laugh, but Dean showed no mercy. "Made you look."

"Funny." Caleb smirked, as he turned back to Dean.

"Really, man, what are you doing here?"

"I was passing through, heard about the family that was sliced and diced here at Amityville. Thought I'd check it out?"

Dean arched his brow expectantly and Caleb sighed. "Fine. I had a vision. Several, in fact. This bitch has quite the nasty temper. I'm tired of watching her tirades, it's messing up my beauty rest."

"Lord knows you need all of that you can get."

"So what are you and the Boy Wonder doing here?" Caleb glanced to Sam. "I thought you were _looking_ for G.I. John, not working for him."

"You know Dad."

Caleb sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know him." He suddenly turned to Sam. "And _no_ I don't know where he is."

"Would you tell us if you did?"

Caleb shook his head at the younger man. "That depends, Sammy. Would you say pretty please with a cherry on top, like you use to."

Dean sniggered and Sam sent him a murderous glare. "Shut up."

"Look…I really am on a tight schedule here, so you boys can either help me waste this old girl, or get your girly asses back on the road."

"Who put you in charge?" Dean lost his smug smile.

"I didn't say I was in charge."

"You said _we _could help _you_."

"Great," Caleb rolled his eyes heavenward. "This is going to be just like that job in Amarillo last year, isn't it?"

"You nearly got me killed," Dean snapped.

"No, I didn't." Was Caleb's brilliant comeback, and Sam was suddenly feeling eight years old again, shoved between two head-butting bucks.

"Yes you did."

"No. I. Didn't."

"Guys!" Sam suddenly shouted, as a gust of air started to swirl around them, kicking up dust and scattering papers from an overturned desk.

"You really are something, you know that, Deuce," Caleb was saying now, as he edged himself closer to Dean. "I risk my life to save you, and this is the thanks I get."

"You risked _your_ life?" Dean laughed. "_I _was the one who ended up unconscious in the ER."

"Dean!" Sam tried again, as a book hurdled past his head.

"And who do you think drug your sorry ass to the hospital, under the threat of serious repercussions by the way."

"Caleb!" The younger man barely ducked out of the way as a large vase careened by him.

"I'm so sorry if my impending death caused you any inconvenience."

"God! You're a damn drama queen!"

Sam started to call out to his brother again when the air was quickly knocked from his lungs as something heavy and powerful barreled into him. He was lifted into the air and was sent crashing through the French doors several feet behind him, where he landed painfully against the kitchen cabinets before sliding bonelessly to the cold tile floor.

"Shit!"

"Fuck!"

Both men whirled at the smashing of glass and splintering of wood, their argument finally ended by the cry of pain from Sam as he landed.

"Sammy," Dean shouted as he ran for the younger man, Caleb right behind him.

"He all right?"

"No!" Dean snapped. "Did you not just notice the wrecking ball impression he did with that door?"

Caleb ignored him, reaching out to brush some of the glass from Sam's hair. "You with us, kid?"

"Say something, Sammy." Dean demanded, slapping his brother's face lightly.

Sam blinked, squinted up at Dean. "_Now_…you're listening?"

"Help me get him up." Dean shifted his gaze to Caleb, grabbing one of his brother's arms, waiting for Reaves to take the other. " He hit that wall pretty damn hard."

"Damn, he's gained some weight."

"I'm right here!" Sam protested being talked around as if he weren't even in the room, as if he were a child again. The other two hunters ignored him as they drug him behind a small kitchen island.

"Still starved for attention though, I see," Caleb deadpanned, ducking to avoid a fry daddy that smashed into the barstool beside of him.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, finally releasing his brother all together. "Not happy unless everyone's looking and listening to him."

"Poltergeist!" Sam pointed out, waving his arms around in front of him, as if his brother and the other hunter were completely missing the point.

"Really," Caleb rested his back up against the counter, shot Dean a look. "He's still sharp as ever, too."

"Yep," Dean primed his gun. "Don't have to throw my Sammy through a wall twice."

"_God_…you're both asses."

"Is this really the time to be arguing?" Caleb frowned at the kid. "I mean really, we need to work together here. Have you forgotten everything the Brotherhood taught you?"

Sam banged his head against the bar, hoping like hell that this was all some sort of bad flashback from his childhood days. "Can we just get this over with? Please?"

"And how would you suggest we do that?" Caleb curled slightly over Sam as two plates exploded on the ceiling above them.

"With these." Sam shoved the older man away and pulled the four leather pouches from his coat pocket. He held them out to Caleb.

"What? You want me to sprinkle fairy dust on it? You really have been out of the game too long, runt."

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's not fairy dust. It's herbs…and," He waved his hand in the air, searching for the right words for the ingredients, "And…you know…shit."

"Herbs and _shit_?" The furrows in Caleb's brow deepened and he looked from Sam to Dean. "You're kidding me. Right?"

"No. It's from Missouri?"

"The state?"

"No, you maniac," Dean snapped, impatiently. "The psychic."

"Why didn't you say so." Caleb took one of the bags. "What the hell do we do with it."

"One bag in the East, West, North, and South walls of the house," Sam explained, calmly, wincing slightly when the lights flickered off and on.

"Oh, and that would be simple if we weren't in a freakin' battle zone."

"Got any better ideas?" Dean grabbed one of the bags and before either of the other hunters could protest, broke cover and dodged towards the far eastern corner of the living room.

"Dean!" Sam shouted after his ignorant, impulsive brother as Caleb stood also and fired off two rounds of rock salt into the air over Dean's head.

The air seemed to become more electrified, and the drawers in the kitchen shook and trembled as more items from the counters took flight. "Son of a bitch!" Sam heard Dean swear, painfully, just before a familiar thud hit the floor.

Sam struggled to get up and go to his brother's aid, but Caleb shoved the shot gun in his hand instead. "Stay here!" He commanded, before dashing from behind the island, and out into the open.

Dean was only a few feet away, on his knees, holding his hands to his head. "Move your ass, Deuce," Caleb ordered, grabbing the dazed hunter from behind and pulling him to his feet.

Several items, including a collection of DVD's targeted the two as they made their way back to cover, but both managed to make it back without further injury.

"Dean?" Sam was on his knees, his anxious face leaning in closer to his brother. "You okay?"

"Of course I am," Dean growled, releasing his head, glaring up at his brother. "But have I mentioned lately how much I really hate fire pokers."

Sam gasped as his brother's fingers moved and blood flowed freely down Dean's face from a deep gash in the top of his head. He franticly looked around them, hoping to find something to staunch the bleeding, when Caleb gently pushed him back out of the way. "Here, let me see."

"Yeah, Dr. Reaves, will fix it," Dean winced and his quick intake of breath made a hissing noise though his teeth as Caleb probed the gash. "He can fix anything."

"It could have been worse," Caleb proclaimed, reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a piece of black material which he firmly held to Dean's head. He glanced at Sam. "At least it hit the hardest part of his body."

"Ow!" Dean howled, as Caleb pressed harder.

"Stop you're crying, Deana!" Caleb took hold of Dean's hand and smacked it onto the make-shift bandage. "Hold that."

Sam watched him move around, peeking over the counter again, only to receive a barrage of pots for his trouble. "Damn it to hell, that thing isn't letting up."

"What now?" Sam's worried gaze went from Dean to Caleb. "We need to get out of here." He needed to get his brother out of there.

Caleb sighed and looked at Dean. "W.W.J.D?"

Sam frowned, but his brother grinned. "Good question."

The youngest Winchester looked between them, even more puzzled than before. Since when had his brother and Caleb, of all people, found religion? "What would Jesus do?" He asked, still eyeing them both.

Caleb laughed and Dean rolled his eyes in embarrassment. "No, you idiot." He flicked his gaze to Reaves and they both spoke in unison. "What. Would. _Jim_. Do."

Sam shook his head, thinking at that moment, and not for the first time, that Caleb and his brother were both cut from the same freakish cloth. "So…is this the part where you two wonder twins click your magic, silver rings together and power up?"

Caleb looked at Dean. "Look who grew a sense of humor while he was gone."

"Oh he thinks he did." Dean winced, bringing his arm down, looking at the piece of material in his hand. "Panties?" He shot Caleb a disgusted look. "You triaged me with panties?"

"Hey, it's all I had. Besides, I worked hard for those."

Dean sighed, and put the underwear back on his head. "Still molesting manikins, I see."

"That's just gross," Sam snarled his nose up.

Caleb grinned, even as a chair crashed to the floor in front of them. "You wouldn't be saying that if you saw the hot number I peeled them from."

"Can we focus here?" Sam had to stop this macho train wreck fast or another round of idiotic bantering would probably get one of them killed. "I would like to go, NOW."

The other two hunters sobered somewhat and scanned the situation. Sam looked from one to the other and was about to make a suggestion when he saw a more frightening sight then the poltergeist. Identical grins began to form on Dean and Caleb's faces. They glanced at Sam and then locked gazes.

"Go long, Deuce." Caleb grabbed one of the leather pouches and in almost exact formation, Dean threw the panties aside and dashed toward the opposite wall of his recent sprint. The pouch he had taken earlier still laid near the fireplace and fortunately was in the east corner of the room.

As he ran, ducking flying furniture, dishes, and all other objects, he kept an eye on Caleb's position, waiting for the signal. After getting tripped up a couple of times by moving rugs, he finally made it to the western wall and whistled long and loud.

"Bombs away." Caleb popped up from behind the counter like a Jack-in-the-Box and launched the pouch straight and true to Dean's waiting hands. The pouch landed and then was quickly tossed into the waiting corner.

Dean didn't give a second look as he began sprinting toward the northern corner, hoping like hell Sam was using the distraction to place the last pouch.

Sam was taking advantage of the reenactment of Monday Night Football and reminding himself what a jackass his brother could be at times. Did either Dean or Caleb tell him what was going to happen? **NO**. Did they even ask his opinion? **NO**.

_Fucking morons._

Sam placed the last bag at the same time as Dean picked up his last pass and tossed it into the corner. The poltergeist must have known they were up to something and was at the moment trying to knock Caleb's head off his shoulders with anything handy.

Sam sat against the southern wall panting, and was about to point out to the spirit that hitting the half-demon anywhere above the neck was a futile gesture, when Dean yelled for him to the start the chant. He sighed. Sure, they got to take breaks and act like freaking pre-schoolers, but he always had to do the work. _Fine._

The chant, mixed with the pouches' power, quickly snuffed out the pissed off poltergeist in a dazzling array of blinding light, leaving behind one hell of a mess. All three hunters slowly got up from their various positions and made their way to the center of the chaos to greet each other. "Winchester saves the game!" Dean made a cheering crowd noise.

"Hm, that was some pretty powerful herbs and shit." Caleb patted Sam's shoulder and turned to look at Dean. "I'd say we got off damn lucky."

"Can we say understatement of the year?" The older Winchester snorted and then turned to take in Sam's disheveled appearance, and the way he was just blinking at them. All manner of bravado and joking ceased. "Hey? You okay, little brother?" He stepped forward and was about to check Sam's pupils but was stopped by his brother abruptly taking a retreating step and favoring him with a nice imitation of the John Winchester glare.

Dean held up his hands in a mock surrender. " Easy, Tiger. I'll take that as a yes."

"Did you two have any idea what the hell you were doing? A freaking football play? Your brilliant plan was a FREAKING football play!"

Caleb grinned at Dean. "And John Boy said that those Sunday afternoon games of flag football were a waste of our time."

Sam shook his head. "Morons. That's what you are. **Both **of you- morons." Sam took a quick breath and was about to launch into another tirade but Caleb's voice stopped him.

"Hey, Deuce, did you happen to bring his paci? Didn't we use to stick that in his mouth to shut him up when he started this crying shit?" Caleb glanced at Dean and then at Sam and then back to Dean.

The older Winchester creased his forehead in a frown, reached up and rubbed his head, making a show of thinking real hard about the questions. Sam made a threatening step toward Dean but the other man wasn't worried. "Nope, but I do have his Woo bee in the car." Dean let a smile grow across his lips as his brother's face turned from a deep scowl to one of abject horror, which was only made worse as Reaves's laughter grew.

"You mean that demented, one-eyed, peg-legged bear you picked up at a yard sale and he use to lug around everywhere we went?" Caleb couldn't stop his laughter, especially when Sam dropped his head into his hands and began muttering in Latin.

"Yep. I figured if all else failed, I could use it to scare some spirits." Dean started chuckling, remembering the horrid toy and how little Sammy never left home without it.

"If you two are finished with your adolescent bullying, could we please get the hell out of here?" Sam calmed his breathing and finally raised his head to stare at the fools in front of him.

Once again, the look that passed between _half-demon _and _half-wit _had Sam's blood turning to ice.

They locked gazes and began to smile.

"W.W.J.D?" Dean quirked an eyebrow at Reaves and was rewarded with an answering nod.

Sam threw his hands in the air. "What the hell does Pastor Jim have to do with this now?" He glanced back and forth, confusion marring his already ashen face.

"No, you idiot, not _Pastor Jim_." Dean sighed in exasperation. "What would John do?"

The youngest Winchester went from confused to homicidal in 0.2 seconds. "What would JOHN do?" The sharp bark echoed throughout the now vacant house.

Caleb nor Dean seemed phased by the outburst and calmly and succinctly answered the question. "Bar."

Rather than take out his 9mm and end the existence of his misery, Sam turned and began walking toward the front door, taking himself out of the house and hopefully away from the peanut gallery.

"I believe you owe me a beer." Caleb's voice followed the retreating hunter and was quickly countered with an indignant one. "The hell you say. It's _you_ who owes me a beer."

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do!" Dean's voice was drifting away as Sam grew farther and farther from the house. He never once looked back to see what was happening or if the two were following.

He kept repeating in his mind, 'W.W.J.D.' (what _would_ Jesus do?) and kept getting the same responses. Turn the other cheek, Sam. Be thy brother's keeper, Sam. And the really important one at the moment. "Thou shalt not kill, Sam!" Yeah, that was a good one. _W.W.J.D_. Dean and Caleb were safe-for now.

_The End._

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed it guys. I want to say a big thanks to Will, who I have not gotten to write with in way too long. She really made this piece so much fun. And also, I hope to have the next chapter of The Line up no later than tomorrow. Tonight is looking iffy, considering I missed lunch, but keep your fingers crossed. --Ridley_


End file.
